by Amy Zhang
Today marks the first day of China’s 2025 National College Entrance Examination (commonly known as the Gaokao). As the most important exam for high school students across the country aiming for higher education, it carries immense weight.
Typically, the entire three years of senior high school, and arguably a student’s entire academic journey, are spent preparing for this exam. Every year, different students, parents, teachers, and schools experience a variety of emotions as the Gaokao approaches.
The closer the exam gets, the more intense the atmosphere becomes. I still vividly remember being that age myself years ago: studying day and night, the nervousness, and the burning determination. I remember the encouragement and strictness of my teachers, their efforts to guide us academically and mentally. The support and understanding are offered by the school and even by students in lower grades. Parents, too, were anxious, fully dedicated to logistics, praying for a smooth exam experience for their children.
(Myself in Year 9, my classroom in Huoqiu No.1 High School; by that time, our school had a phone-free policy)
The entire society makes accommodations for the Gaokao: roads near schools are silenced from honking, traffic police ensure safe transit, and schools and communities organise support groups to help with emergencies for unaccompanied students, such as sudden illness, lost exam admission cards, traffic delays, etc.
(Photography: China Daily, TikTok)
My hometown, Anhui Province, along with Henan Province, is known for having a particularly large number of Gaokao candidates. With so many students, competition is fierce. Teachers often jokingly say, “Scoring one more point means surpassing ten thousand others.” This pressure has even led to the rise of places like Maotanchang High School, a renowned “repeat school” or exam prep factory, famous nationwide for helping students who didn’t perform well the first time (video link of Maotanchang attached below).
There are always voices questioning the system: “Standardised education is useless,” “The pressure on students is too intense,” “It stifles freedom and well-being,” or “Even getting into college doesn’t mean anything anymore.” But before we rush into such post-Gaokao discussions, we must pause and reflect: what does “useful” truly mean? Is it simply getting a good job and making a lot of money? I don’t think so.
Facing the Gaokao head-on, an exam taken by tens of millions, it remains a relatively fair and operable system for selecting talent. But more than the results or the tier of university students are admitted to, I value the preparation journey: students’ resilience, clarity of goals, pursuit of dreams, the courage to face difficulties, the collective cooperation of a class, and the unity of families and society.
Take my own experience as an example: when I was in my second year of high school, my mother rented a tiny apartment near my school to accompany me during exam prep. For an ordinary family, that was a financial strain, a sacrifice in service of a shared goal. For me, it carried the weight of my parents’ expectations. It became a beautiful memory I will never forget, something I’ll always be grateful for.
(Gaokao Pledge Ceremony)
In a student’s life, the Gaokao is a monumental event, but it also made me realise: I was never alone. My family, classmates, and teachers were all with me, every step of the way. And most importantly, regardless of the outcome, giving it one’s all is every student’s wish. This reflects the Confucian philosophy: “尽人事，听天命”, which means, ‘Do your best, and leave the rest to fate.’
(My dad and I were on the train to my university registration, the photo was taken 10 years ago)
Today, heavy rain and thunder are roaring in the sky, as if sending blessings to every examinee. May you all achieve your ideal results and hand in an answer sheet worthy of your efforts. The future is full of promise!
What do you think of the Chinese Gaokao? Have you experienced the Gaokao or similar exams? Share your thoughts in the comments.